


to un-explain the unforgivable

by semisemi (artifice)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Exes, M/M, They're both assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artifice/pseuds/semisemi
Summary: He ran out of things to say to Semi Eita a long time ago.
Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	to un-explain the unforgivable

**Author's Note:**

> do you have the keys to the semishira ship? 'cause i'm gonna string this motherfucker on fire.
> 
> wrote this a while back, probably when i was in a bad place. i figure i might as well post it and clear up space, haha.
> 
> title from "this is how i disappear" by my chemical romance.

_at the end of the world_  
_or the last thing I see_  
_you are never coming home,_  
_never coming home._

* * *

Coffee sloshes out of the mug as Kenjirou places the carafe back in its place, leaving sharp pricks of pain on the back of his hand. He doesn’t bat an eye.

“Pretty fucked,” Eita says, wisps of smoke escaping his mouth as he speaks, “huh?”

Kenjirou shrugs with one shoulder. It’s not as though he has anything else to say.

He ran out of things to say to Semi Eita a long time ago.

He hands him the coffee anyway.

“We’re going on tour.”

“Really? That’s— wow. That's great, Eita. Congratulations."

"Feels like it's been ages," Eita continues, accepting the mug in his free hand without so much as a blink. It’s a little too familiar for comfort.

Kenjirou backs away to a respectable distance, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

“Why are you here?” 

If the non sequitur bothers Eita, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes another drag, cigarette pinched between his index and middle fingers ( _“Distal, middle, proximal phalanges. Say, memorize the muscles and tendons next, and maybe I’ll let you fuck me with them.”_ ) _,_ hand splayed wide. His palm covers the lower half of his face as he tilts his head back, peeking through lowered lashes and ghostly fingers at Kenjirou. It's almost as though he can see through the act of apathy.

He probably can.

“Why are any of us here,” he blows the smoke in Kenjirou’s direction, then takes a sip of his still-scalding coffee while lightly shaking out the ashes of his cigarette. Dark particulate drifts to the floor, where it blends imperceptibly with the grey tile.

Kenjirou could _strangle_ him. He stiffly crosses his arms instead. “Shut the fuck up. Why are you here?”

The other man has the audacity to smirk and take another sip.

“Indecisive as ever,” he says mildly. “What do you want? I can shut up or give you an answer, but I can’t do both at once.”

Kenjirou _will_ strangle him, the bastard.

"How long?"

“Tell me why you’re back in the city. Then get out.”

Eita turns and sets the half-empty mug on the counter behind him. He drops the remainder of the cigarette in the liquid with a small _plink,_ then stares at the white kitchen cabinets, his fingers flexing emptily against the edge of the marble.

Kenjirou waits.

“Came back to see you.”

“Bullshit.”

The scorpion inked on the slope of Eita’s neck shifts as he turns again, hazel eyes flashing under the harsh overhead lights.

“It’s not.”

“If you hadn’t been shitting me for the past five fucking years—“

“I’m not shitting you now, damn it—“

“— then _maybe_ I’d feel a little more inclined to believe you,”

“Will you fucking _listen_ to me?”

Kenjirou opens his mouth to speak, maybe say a vehement _no_ , but Eita barrels on before he can retort.

“I wrote an album about you,” he looks down at where his hands grip the countertop. Kenjirou’s jaw clicks shut.

“What,” he can’t help but grit out.

Eita relaxes marginally. “Well. It’s about me too, of course. And us. How life fucked us over.”

With difficulty, Kenjirou finds his mental footing and manages to keep his face impassive. He can feel the bitterness tainting his veins, though— black and boiling and ready to burst through his lungs until he can tear the tattoos from Eita’s skin with the force of his hurt alone.

“You’re delusional,” he says bluntly, and he relishes the curl of schadenfreude in his gut as the other man flinches. “There is no ‘us’.”

Eita lets out a scoff, tilting his head back to stare at the plain ceiling. Then, he visibly shakes himself, buckles on his leather jacket _clink-_ ing metallic and sharp in the silence, and faces Kenjirou with a twisted smirk.

“Tickets.”

“Excuse me?”

Eita reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded envelope, which he sets next to the mug on the counter.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t bring free VIP tickets?” His voice contains the veneer of careful neutrality, but underneath, there's a harsh bite to his tone that Kenjirou is all too familiar with.

Despite the thousands of questions flooding his traitorous brain, however, he stays silent, keeping his expression disinterested.

“Unbelievable.” Eita doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. “Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, asshole.”

With that, he brushes past Kenjirou, and moments later, the slam of the door reverberates through the quiet apartment.

“…Eita?”

“I don’t know.”

There’s an alternate universe where Kenjirou follows him out. That’s the same universe where he goes to the concert the next night; where he’s swept off his feet again; where Eita stays in Tokyo, and they do something stupid like hold forever in their hands. It’s wishful thinking.

No— after Eita leaves, Kenjirou just quietly locks the door.

The envelope is promptly thrown into the recycling bin, the mug is washed, and the cigarette butt finds itself buried in trash. The windows are cranked open to invite the early evening April chill, and Kenjirou disappears inside his bedroom to— breathe, maybe.

By the time Taichi gets home, calling out a faint _tadaima_ , it’s like Eita was never there.

**Author's Note:**

> i imagine the album is smth like _nothing above, nothing below_ by death spells. do with that what you will.
> 
> talk to me on [tumblr!](https://rtifice.tumblr.com/)


End file.
